"Loos'd from ye chains of flesh his freer mind / Rose up to sacred love, / To perfect saint or seraphim refin'd, / Quitting his lump of clay, / As subtle spirits fume away / Loos'd from their earth they upward mount, they flye, / They light, they shine, & blaze along the skye."

"But he who servily can wish or grieve / For that which is not in his powr to give / Casts off the firmness wch shoud make him great / the strongest shield we can oppose to fate / letts inclinations grow & thus he weaves / Those very bonds which keep us passions slaves."